


No More Yielding but a Dream

by LawrVert



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19432984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrVert/pseuds/LawrVert
Summary: Aziraphale has never experienced sleep or dreaming and thinks it a waste of time. Crowley quite likes the feeling, though his dreams are sometimes nightmares.





	No More Yielding but a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eriathalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriathalia/gifts).



> Thank you for reading the work of a fandom newbie. Good Omens has made me happier than any other fandom I've ever been involved in. This fic is dedicated to my partner, @eriathalia who also beta read it for me and is generally my heart!

They had shared the loveliest dinner at a quaint Italian restaurant, one of those places which simply couldn't help but be charming due to the faint glow of real candlelight, the quiet hum of conversation over the faint strains of opera playing in the background, and the overall impression of the place having that indefinable quality known as character. Aziraphale recounted a story about some lost tourists that stumbled into the bookshop looking for travel guides between bites of the house specialty, a seafood pasta with a heavy cream sauce. Every so often, he amused Crowley by making faint noises indicating his enjoyment of the meal, closing his eyes and sighing. “Can you believe they wandered in asking where Buckinham Palace was? It was five minutes before closing!” The angel punctuated his annoyance by hastily dipping a breadstick into a bowl of marinara sauce. 

Crowley smiled wryly and interjected. “I don’t suppose you sold them a map?” 

Shaking his head and wrinkling his nose at the distasteful thought, Aziraphale replied, “Of course not. I don’t have any silly tourist maps. Only ancient historical artifacts." He looked rather disappointed to find his plate almost empty until Crowley lifted his index finger and refilled it with an almost imperceptible movement. 

He was rewarded with a shy smile from his angel. "Oh...Thank you. I might be a bit more peckish than usual today." 

While he himself rarely ate, Crowley did enjoy the surge of energy from a good cup of coffee or the warm glow brought on by a glass of fine wine. His greatest pleasure was watching his old friend eat. Aziraphale had always savored his food, and Crowley had learned that if the angel didn't have an appetite, something was dreadfully wrong. 

"Maybe a little," the demon replied with a warm chuckle, slouching in his chair. 

"You know. There's one thing I've always wondered, Crowley." Aziraphale leaned forward, feeling utterly content after a such a good meal. 

"What's that, angel?" Crowley asked, sliding over his still untouched tiramisu. 

"What is it you find so pleasant about sleeping? It seems an awfully big waste of time just lying there with your eyes closed for hours when you could be reading or seeing the world…" 

"Or eating," Crowley supplied with a chuckle. 

"Yes. I suppose that too." The angel gestured with his fork as he finished the dessert as well.

Leaning forward, Crowley took a moment to consider his answer. Or rather, he appeared to be taking a moment to ponder his answer (when actually what he was doing was watching the way the soft candlelight was reflected in Aziraphale's eyes.) Though he was no poet, he thought they were the color of a warm, summer sky and just as inviting. 

"Sleep is relaxing. But it isn't so much the sleep as the dreams. Tell me, angel. Didn't you ever peer into a human's dreams?" 

Wiping his chin with his napkin, Aziraphale considered. "I know other Angels who have the power to shape the dreams of humans...all in service of the great plan, of course." 

"Yes, but have you ever looked into their dreams yourself?" Crowley asked, raising a hand to call a waiter for the check. 

"No...but I have the next best thing in my books. All their great ideas…all the horror and beauty...the joy and pain put down on paper. Small windows into their hearts and souls." Aziraphale was positively luminous talking about his books, and for a moment, Crowley nearly lost his train of thought. 

"Their dreams are amazing. Especially the dreams of children. They're completely unfettered. Free to walk among the stars...fly over the Grand Canyon...have tea with seahorses in the ocean." Crowley grinned at the memory. The last had been one of Warlock's dreams. 

"I've never slept. I don't know what dreaming feels like," Aziraphale admitted with a touch of sadness. "You make it sound wonderful." 

"It is." At least most of the time, Crowley thought. There were nights when he still woke up screaming, tortured by the memory of his fall. Most nights, he dreamed of Aziraphale now, the kind of dreams so lovely waking up left him with a sense of loss. "It's not too late to try." 

"Really? Do you suppose I could?" Aziraphale slipped into his coat. He seemed rather intrigued by the idea. 

"I don't see why you couldn't. You're an angel afterall. I don't think there's very much you can't do." Crowley stood and walked him to the Bentley, finding it rather endearing that his friend now had a habit of patting the car's hood as if in greeting. 

"To the bookshop, then?" Crowley asked with a touch of regret as he wasn’t looking forward to his empty, cold apartment. 

The angel’s next remark left Crowley so shocked, he temporarily forgot to open the Bentley. Aziraphale’s hands fussed with his waistcoat, then clasped and unclasped behind his back as he fretted over his words. "Crowley….you said I could stay at your place sometime. I...thought perhaps...ah..tonight…..only if that’s alright...if not...I completely understand. Does that invitation still stand?"  
Although he knew there was nothing intrinsically base in Aziraphale’s proposal, time seemed to move excessively slowly while Crowley remembered how to speak. When he rediscovered his voice, he overcompensated, speaking at a much louder volume than necessary and about an octave higher than his usual rumbling pitch. “Yes..yeah..that’s fine. Great. Of course.” Although he shrugged his shoulders and seemed nonchalant, the moment his back was turned, he had to fight the urge to grin like the Cheshire cat. 

“Splendid. That’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale replied, favoring him with one of his brightest smiles. He gestured towards the still locked Bentley. “Shall we?” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and climbed in, starting the engine, his hands gripping the wheel rather tightly. He looked over at Aziraphale every now and then, feeling a mix of joy and panic. When he pulled into his parking spot in front of the flat, he watched a rather confused expression pass over Aziraphale’s face. 

“Well, here we are. Don’t worry, Angel. No skulls or pentagrams inside,” Crowley teased. 

“No?” he asked.

Crowley had to smile at the angel’s wide-eyed expression. 

“No...I only set those out on holidays and Thursdays. Relax, Aziraphale.” Crowley let him into the spacious and sparsely furnished apartment that was sleek and even rather elegant in a dark, streamlined, modern way. What little furniture Crowley owned was more befitting of a castle or a Renaissance painting, gilded and richly upholstered in sumptuous velvet.

Aziraphale stepped into the foyer a bit tentatively and looked around. “Oh...it’s really quite...normal.” 

Ordinarily Crowley might have been offended had someone called his home normal, but now he was just relieved that Aziraphale hadn’t immediately run out the door. 

Aziraphale was instantly drawn to Crowley’s plants, one hand pressed to his cheek. “Oh! What lovely plants! May I?” Before Crowley could say anything else, Aziraphale examined them, almost caressing their leaves. “Just beautiful, really.” 

Growling half-heartedly, Crowley replied, “Now, don’t get carried away Angel. You’ll give them delusions of grandeur.” Despite the gruffness in his tone, his dark glasses concealed a certain pleasure at Aziraphale praising his plants. 

“Nonsense. Living things need encouragement.” Aziraphale fixed him with that damnable, wide-eyed, adoring gaze that instantly disarmed him. He waited until the angel moved away from the plants, then grumbled and shook his fist in their direction. “Don’t get used to this.” 

Meanwhile Aziraphale was examining the pictures on the wall, the television, a red velvet upholstered chair. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Crowley realized rather belatedly that he had nothing in the house except for coffee, tea, and alcohol. 

“No thank you. I should very much like to try sleeping now, I think." Aziraphale smiled and waved a hand over the center of his chest with a flourish, transforming his attire into blue silk pajamas. "There. That's better." 

"Alright, then. The bedroom's through there. I can stay out here on the sofa." Crowley wouldn't dare to cross any boundaries he shouldn't with Aziraphale. 

"Actually…" The angel trailed off, watching his reaction. "I had rather hoped I could watch you sleep. I don't mind sharing the bed." 

"Watch...me what? I….alright," Crowley muttered feeling self-conscious. He just hoped he wouldn't snore. 

"Do you have a side you prefer to sleep on?" Aziraphale asked, studying the large bed with its black and red satin sheets. 

Crowley almost remarked that he used the bed only part of the time, sometimes preferring the floor or even the ceiling, but instead replied, "The left is fine." 

"Very good, then. I shall take the right." Aziraphale climbed into bed on the right side and rolled onto his side, which brought him very close to Crowley, their noses almost touching. 

Feeling utterly flustered by the closeness, Crowley blinked and turned to his opposite side, eyes wide open and heart racing at the thought of being so close to his angel.

*****  
There was quite a lot of tossing and turning, accidental arms across faces, mumbled apologies, and icy feet brushing legs at first. When Crowley did fall asleep, it was fairly awkward for Aziraphale to find a comfortable position with Crowley's long limbs constantly ending up strewn across most of the bed. At one point, seeking warmth due to his cold-blooded nature, he rolled over, and wrapped all his limbs around Aziraphale. 

Although the first instinct the angel had was to disentangle himself, he soon found the feeling of being wrapped up in Crowley's arms to be one of the most pleasant things he'd ever felt. He felt unexpectedly safe with Crowley, like finally finding a home. It was, if he were perfectly honest with himself, a touch too warm, but he allowed himself to be held nonetheless. Lying so close, he was able to examine the familiar, handsome face with it's long slender nose and high forehead crowned by that shock of hair the color of smoldering embers. Aziraphale would never have his fill of looking at Crowley. He loved watching the way the demon's features relaxed, the tiny movements of his closed eyes and the way his breathing evened out and slowed. He supposed it was part of Crowley's nature to be constantly on edge, entire body tense, muscles taut as a thread ready to snap. Only now did he realize that he was seeing something no one else had ever before. He had to admit that in his sleep he glimpsed the fragments of the angel he once was, especially with moonlight falling upon his face giving it an ethereal glow. 

Aziraphale dared to rest his head over the heart that technically did not need to beat, but did because the demon wished it to in order to appear more human. Sighing, he nuzzled the spot, a tiny movement so as not to wake the beloved one whose arms he rested in. One arm wrapped around Crowley's back. It was quite a lovely feeling to hold him in turn. 

He observed during the night that Crowley changed positions 27 times and that he talked quite loudly in his sleep. Mostly nonsensical phrases. Aziraphale didn't mind, especially when they ended up on their sides, Crowley curled up behind him, their bodies fitting perfectly. The angel even tugged the demon's arm around his middle and interlaced their fingers. In his half-conscious state, Crowley pulled the angel even closer, arm tightening around him. 

Aziraphale's curiosity got the better of him, and in the stillness, he began to look into Crowley's dreams, not interfering but watching from afar. He was stunned to find himself the subject of many of them. Dream Crowley radiated contentment...and something deeper, more primal. Aziraphale couldn't bear to acknowledge what that emotion was just yet. They were in Venice, riding in a gondola under a calm blue sky. Aziraphale remembered this day, and the way they had managed to tip the vessel over, leaving them both sopping wet. He did not remember himself being so radiant, and he blushed at seeing the way Crowley saw him in the dream. Sure enough, they ended up in the water, all grumbling and annoyance dissolving into laughter and a rather playful splashing match. Afterwards, as they rested on the bank. Crowley had performed a minor demonic miracle to dry their clothes so they were presentable enough to have gelato. Though the scenery dissolved before that bit, Aziraphale remembered it had been particularly delicious.

In a moment, the dream changed. Aziraphale and Crowley stood on the edge of the newly formed Grand Canyon, wings extended, a light breeze touseling their hair. "You've got to admit that's some pretty amazing engineering," Crowley said looking at Aziraphale. 

"I've always thought so too." The angel looked out over the chasm painted vivid red and oranges under the rising sun. "You don't see colors like that anywhere in heaven."

"We could…..take a closer look...if you wanted to," Crowley suggested, stretching his ebony wings, testing the wind.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, "Aziraphale cautioned.

"Oh, relax, angel. Noone will see." Crowley spread his wings and Aziraphale followed him, swooping down among the craggy rocks, skimming a winding river with fingertips as the sun bathed them both in warm, golden light, finally resting on a plateau as the sun set, making all the colors of the landscape even more vibrant. Aziraphale watched their dream selves sit under a sky full of stars as dream Crowley pointed out the ones he knew. At one point, the Aziraphale of Crowley's dream took his hand. 

The real memory had not ended that way at all. In reality, they had gazed out over the abyss just a few moments more and then parted ways to report to their respective head offices. 

Aziraphale frowned as the setting grew hazy and the dreamworld blurred. Momentarily forgetting where he was, he found himself staring at the halls of heaven, golden light filtering in through windows. Then, he saw him, red hair falling in graceful waves down his back, tall and slender, looking resplendent in his heavenly robes. Crowley was undeniably beautiful, his skin luminous, his eyes a deep golden brown. The white wings were folded neatly at his back. If they were outstretched, Aziraphale imagined their wingspan and majesty would rival his own. Still, despite the ethereal glory, it was not his Crowley. 

In a moment, the setting shifted, and moment, Aziraphale felt scalding hot air against his face and flames licking at his body. The angel had to remind himself that it was a dream….an old memory. He heard the agonized screams of the one he loved, as he stood mute and unable to help him, wishing he could suffer the horrors in his place as his heavenly form was burned away slowly, his wings stripped away as easily as pulling the wings off a butterfly. Once the torment was done, Crowley lay covered in ash on the cold tile floor of a filthy room. Garish fluorescent lights sputtered and water dripping from the ceiling was the only sound other than Crowley's pained gasps. The fallen one barely moved except for the shaking of his shoulders as he wept silent tears. He was too tired and his throat too sore to speak. Crowley's skin was blistered and bleeding, and the once white robes of heaven hung in tatters.

Unable to stand seeing Crowley suffer any longer, Aziraphale used his divine power to Control Crowley's dream. It was not uncommon for angels to influence great events in history through messages delivered in dreams. Countless ideas had come from a bit of angelic inspiration. This marked Aziraphale's very first experience with manipulation of dreams, and the angel found it wholly disorienting at first. 

Aziraphale crossed over to where Crowley had fallen, light emanating from his core to ward off any demons who might want to taunt his friend. Kneeling down, he reached out a hand and whispered. "Crowley, you're going to be alright." Although the demon cringed away from the touch and tried to curl in on himself even more, Aziraphale didn't give up. The angel lifted his chin. "Look at me," he pleaded. When a lower demon did approach, he simply held himself up to his full height and commanded, “Get thee behind me, foul fiends. This man is no longer yours to torment.” Where once his tone had been teasing uttering these remarks, now it was icy, full of all the ancient wrath of a true avenging angel. 

"Aziraphale? Why are you here?" The yellow eyes were ringed in layers of soot and and so filled with confusion and pain it broke Aziraphale's heart. 

"You're dreaming. None of this can hurt you anymore, I won’t let it. Let's get you home." Smiling, he took his arm and lifted him. When Crowley’s knees buckled, he lifted him in his arms and carried him, lighting up every dark corner with a blast of ethereal light.

******  
Crowley's eyes snapped open, the pupils wide and dilated. The only thing that soothed him was the realization that in his bed, in his arms, was the angel who had just rescued him from his worst recurrent nightmare. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds and cast alternating bands of light and dark over his face. “Angel?” he whispered, relief washing over him.

Aziraphale murmured, "There you are. It's over. Your safe now," and caressed his cheek. 

He'd waited millennia to hold his angel, and now he regretted that his mind was still reeling. Aziraphale was warm and real and solid. Soft arms that were stronger than they looked wrapped around him. One hand rested gently on Crowley's side, fingers skimming over his ribs, raising pleasant goosebumps on his arms. Aziraphale looked at him in absolute adoration, and Crowley startled him a little by tugging him closer to his chest and burying his nose in the angel's unruly blonde hair, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, rain, and old books that always clung to him. Although one of his arms was cramping a little, he couldn't bear to let him go. 

"Usually I'm the one that rescues you, angel," Crowley chuckled after placing a kiss on top of Aziraphale's head. 

"Well, technically I only rescued you from a dream so you're still a few hundred ahead of me," Aziraphale responded, sighing and nuzzling the crook of Crowley's neck. 

"Still some time to catch up, angel," Crowley whispered, delighted by the warmth spreading through his entire body. 

"Now that you're awake. I suppose I should...should I go back to the bookshop?" Aziraphale asked in a tone that indicated that was not at all what he wanted and was only asking for propriety's sake. 

"Please...you can stay if you like. This is...rather.." Crowley searched for the right word..blissful, intoxicating, endlessly comforting…He finally settled on "pleasant." 

"It is indeed. Though if we are going to repeat this experiment, I shall have to insist that you stay at the bookshop some times." Crowley was rather delighted with the shy peck on the cheek that followed. 

"So you aren't opposed to this?" Crowley asked, one hand tracing the Angel's spine. 

"Not at all. Aside from your rather icy feet, I quite enjoy it." Aziraphel shifted to rest his head on Crowley's shoulder. 

Crowley released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Good. So…what now?" 

The angel stretched then propped himself up on his elbow and answered. "Well….I could really go for a nice omelette."


End file.
